


All I Am Now

by rosedolores



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Thor (2011), Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, they are both whining for attention, years after the snake incident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:17:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosedolores/pseuds/rosedolores
Summary: Oh how a small wound can torture a god.Loki stabbed Thor years before, but Thor still feels the pain on some days. Loki didn't know until this evening.





	1. Chapter 1

It aches again. And Thor is fed up with it. The palm of his left hand is burning up, the back of it outright throbbing with years old pain, Loki’s courtesy. The stab wound he got from his darling little brother, his own blood, when they were at the tender age of six and eight scarred ugly, leaving damaged nerves and uneven flesh behind.

Apparently the only knife Loki could obtain for the sole purpose of _stabbing_ him, was a rusty kitchen knife, ragged edges blunt, meant for slicing tender meat, not for tearing through it.

Thor huffs. A pity, his brother made such a beautiful snake, from first glance scales black as night, swallowing you whole if you look at it too long, but from closer, the scales would shift their color, and the whole body would become a play of iridescent hues. Even in disguise, let there be another one underneath.

Just how many layers of deception hides his brother, one always prepared in case someone got too close to figure out the currently used one. No one would ever figure it out, Thor knows this, maybe they would get close to it, if they are lucky. If Loki is bored and feeling generous.

He was in his chambers, when he heard the hissing. He got up from his bed, felt the soft rug under his toes, and saw the creature – easily the biggest he ever seen in his young life so far, length the size of his torso, vertical – as it slid towards him, movements languid, mesmerizing. Eyes like poison, cruel yellow dripped in oil, and Thor thought this beast would be his end, should it bit him.

By this point he really should have known. He picked it up, of course he did, what else would do an eight year old who is meant to be a god, odes sung about his greatness before he could even walk, bathed in gold and grandeur every day. A sweet burden, his fate, heavy, but so addictive.

The snake – and this is the most frustrating part of this whole _ordeal_ , not even the stabbing, or the scar it left behind, or the damned pain, the Gods know they hurt each other enough trough the years – let itself be picked up and held under a beam of sun that shone through the window, dust gleaming in its way. Thor only wished to see its scales better, to stare into those wrathful eyes. If he only transformed into a snake so he could get closer to Thor, there were already several opportunities to transform back and stab him. It wasn’t necessary to let the mischief go on this long, but Loki let it. He bends the rules of his own games the way he sees fit, he will let you think you are winning, just so, then he ends it all.

The snake just coiled around his right arm, its body a constant pressure, heavy for an eight year old, interested in him just as he was in it.  He wanted to show it to Loki, remembers Thor, he was feeling giddy with excitement. He was thinking about him even then. He is thinking about him even now.

Thor focuses his gaze, yanks himself back to the great hall, back to the people mingling around him. He is not exactly brooding in the shadow of a pillar, but he is close to. His damned hand doesn’t let him pay attention to anything happening around him, the throbbing pain cutting trough everything. He rotates his left wrist, trying to move the pain, a nervous tick he _knows_ he developed, years and years ago. He wishes if he must, at least he would do it from time to time unintentionally, not even aware of doing it, but always catches himself too late, squeezing his hand, feeling every time that his own body is betraying him. He wants to be blind to his own weakness.

“Your expression brings the clouds even into the great hall, Thor.” Fandral slid up to him, and he didn’t even _realize._ He hands Thor a goblet full of wine, red like blood, and Thor wants to hurl it away. He takes a resentful sip instead.

“I don’t know what you mean, my friend.”

Fandral just looks at him long, and Thor stares right back at him. He wants to keep his privilege to sulk if he wants to. His hand hurts. He is technically injured therefore he needs his sulking time for healing. The question is when will this years old scar leave him be, a constant reminder of his brother’s misdeed. A reminder of his brother’s plump tears as he realized that the knife went right trough Thor’s hand, his blood oozing out of the wound. A reminder that Loki tried to stop the bleeding with his own tunic, all the while babbling about Thor being stupid for trying to stop the knife, he just wanted to graze him, why is he always _in the way._

He remembers watching as Loki’s tears fell into his wound, crystal clear mixing with crimson, and wondered about great warriors who swore blood oaths with each other. Wondered what it meant that instead of blood, he got his brother’s tears, salty and pure, so angry and sorrowful. What it meant that he was the only one whose flesh got pried open that day.

Fandral sighs, but doesn’t give up. “Just look around you, beautiful girls await you with brilliant smiles, strong mead and heady wine. What more could you possibly need?”

Thor knows that the only way this night will end is with him alone in his bed, counting the enchanted stars on his ceiling – his mother’s gift – waiting for the pain in his hand to go away, or for sleep to take him away. Trying very hard not to think about his brother, how he sleeps peacefully, while he suffers from a wound caused by a _kitchen knife._ Stopping himself from thinking of his brother’s tears, about the way he called his name over and over, said _Thor_ in a shaking voice, his own tears choking him. Mourning him already.

“Have you made closer acquaintances with any of those beautiful girls yourself?” Thor asks back, smiling lightly, trying to kick himself into a better mood.

Fandral just clicks his tongue, letting it go.

“Thor, my friend, I wouldn’t rob the many beauties of my charming company, I can't simply spend the whole night with one flower, I mustn’t be selfish, so I shall fly from one to another.” Impossibly convictional, and Thor can't help his quiet laughter.

“Your self-devotion, as always, is much appreciated.”

Fandral nods his gratitude. “But let’s take a look at your brother, there, he has spent the whole night so far with only one girl, a grave mistake if you ask me.”

Ah. Back to square one it seems. Thor tried his best to resist searching for his brother in the crowd, he didn’t want to see him, not tonight, but he might as well tried to stop his beating heart on purpose. It was a futile effort.

He flicks his gaze to the far end of the hall, Loki’s figure familiar among the sea of bodies. He takes in his shape easily, a path worn down by his eyes through the years. The familiarity calms him, Loki agitates him. So they go, back and forth, back and forth.

He is talking with a girl, the daughter of one of the senators, if Thor recalls correctly. He really doesn’t care. He knows Loki doesn’t care either, be it a servant or royal blood, his silver tongue handles both, and anything between, easily, it has never been a problem for him, never will be. He will talk the stars off the sky for you if you pay the right price.

The girl is all soft laughs and softer curves, and Loki leans down, closer to her to whisper something, his elegance shown in this one single movement, and Thor sees glinting in his hair, small pearls have been woven into a few braids here and there, partly hidden in the wild weaves of his hair. Thor can't wait to tease him about it, he recognizes their mother’s hand in this, of course he does. Loki loves to dress up, he sees his brother’s appreciation of fine silks and the like in the slow drag of his hand on the fabrics, but he hates putting things into his hair with burning passion, he has no patience for sitting still until it is done, feels it tedious. He whines every time.

Then one braid slides over his shoulder, slowly, the pearls’ weight pulling on it a little, and comes the unbidden thought, merciless in its sincerity; Loki wears them beautifully, combining this with his clever, _deadly_ tongue... Siren on dry land, he will lure you to your end without remorse.

The pain in his hand flares up again, and Thor stretches out his fingers, the scar tightening. Wills it to go away. It doesn’t.

“She is of high status, it would be considered rude if no one from the royal family talked to her.” He tries to focus on this conversation, rather than on his brother, or _this damn pain_.

“Father and Mother are busy with the Elders and...”

“And you are busy skulking in the shadows, like a moody phantom.”  Fandral finishes for him, but he doesn’t really pay attention anymore, he eyes a pretty girl with hair red like a sunset, her face and bare shoulders spotted all over with freckles, alluring, and his body already angling into her direction. Thor sees this, and shoos him away, sighing;

“Go, let me _skulk_ in peace then.”

But Fandral looks back at him, suddenly worried.“Are you alright Thor?”

He nods, and feels every bit of a liar. He manages a smile. “Don’t drown in your cups tonight, I want to spar tomorrow.”

Fandral smiles wide, “Thor.” he raises his cup in a toast, then off he is.

Watching him leave, Thor feels himself slipping around the edges, the steady aching leaving him worn down, not knowing when it will flare up once again keeps him wound up.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and sees a life where this is irregular, and _constant_ , his hand aching again and again, so he must think of his brother again _and again_.  It almost scares him that nothing seems to be important to him right now, can't bring himself to care about anything, just him and his pain, Loki in-between.

Thor feels robbed of his freedom, chained down to nothing.

His hand starts _burning_ , the wound pulses with white-hot pain, and he grits his teeth. It’s been years, why does it hurt like the knife is still in there, pierced through. Ruthless and unforgiving. Unrelenting.

Loki’s tears like acid in the wound, marring him until the ends of time.

He heard that a dragon’s spit would rot your flesh to the bones, slowly picking its way through the cells, into your bloodstream, killing you unhurried. Giving you enough time to look into the dragon’s eyes and see death coming.

Thor drowns his wine in three big gulps. Swallows around his throat, wishes he drank more since the beginning, now maybe he wouldn’t have to deal with his thoughts. He just needs to sleep it off.

He looks up from his cup, through the crowd, looking for his brother simply because he doesn’t know how not to.

He doesn’t know better. He doubts he will ever do.

He feels a small twitch in his hand, powers trough another wave of pain.

Loki is looking at him, his hand on the girl’s waist, murmuring sticky sweet words into her ear, prey caught, but his gaze bores into Thor’s. A stolen moment, and Thor sees his eyes flicker from his face to his hand.

Thor never told him that the scar still pains him on some days. He doesn’t want Loki to know that he left Thor with something so permanent, something that _forces_ him into Thor’s thoughts, not caring about permission. He would loath to give Loki this, even though it seems Loki stole it from him already. A thief among piles of precious stones, picking for his liking.

Loki looks back from his hand into his eyes again, and smiles kindly. Thor is not naive enough to hope for a swift death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!
> 
> this is my take on the Snake Incident yknow, but before loki became a total git and cocked up everything  
> still he is manipulative af here just a heads up  
> let me know if something needs to be tagged pls  
> kudos and comments are life i want to improve my writing so come at me my friends  
> thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Thor walks through the halls, trying to quieten his steps but still, he feels like an intruder in his own home, doesn’t quite fitting in between the walls. He left the banquet early, yet the summer night is heavy already with the smell of flowers and overripe fruits, and it clings to his skin uncomfortably, seeping into his pores, taking place in his flesh. To his right it’s open to his mother’s hanging gardens, and as he walks only the ivory columns are covering his view from time to time, painting the hall in shadows like a tiger’s fur, black stripes playing with the eyes, reality altering. The moonlight takes away all the color.

Thor feels like his lungs will burst, tries taking deeper breaths, still, the hot air is settling down around him, threatening to choke him. The hair on the nape of his neck sticks to his skin. Gods, he wants to take a cold bath.

He squeezes his left hand again, touches the scar on his palm with his fingertips. He didn’t look at Loki again for the rest of the night.

As he walks, he realizes that there has been a soft humming to the air, all around him, the reason he felt like he was choking on nothing. The static buzzing prickles his skin, making him tense. He slows his steps, but doesn’t stop, looks out to the gardens, between two monumental pillars, the moonlight blinding him for a moment, but sees no movement, only the weak wind drifting through the greens.

Thor walks a few more steps, then stops, turning around to see the way he came from. Nothing. The hall is empty, pale and silent, dry bones in a coffin. He turns back again to continue his way to his chambers. He thinks he sees a shadow behind a pillar, but he blinks and it’s gone, like it never _was_ , and he starts to feel suspicious.

They have been playing this game since forever, and they will end it only when one of them finally lies in grave, rotting away. Thor sighs.

He looks in front of him again and sees the shadow once more, sitting on one of the many windowsills to Thor’s left. Every summer they bring out the plush cushions and soft furs, placing them there, on the windowsills, so his mother’s garden is in plain sight, the pillars far enough from each other to not to obscure the view.

He doesn’t really need confirmation, but still, he walks to Loki slow and cautious. Waiting for him to flicker out of existence again, to see the shimmering light of his magic, and after that... His brother gone.

 _Are you really here?_ He wants to ask, but he fears the answer.

 _Will we hurt each other again?_ This, he doesn’t ask because he knows the answer.

 _Look at me._ He wants so say instead, but he can't demand something that he has denied of his brother through the night.

 _Loki._ All of them. Everything.

Thor sees him, clearly now, bathing in the warm moonlight and fidgeting with a small silken package. When Thor steps closer still, his own shadow covers a part of Loki from the moon, one side belongs to the living now, one to the dead.

Loki still hasn’t looked at him.

Thor reaches out and touches Loki’s knee, just slightly, barely, with his fingertips. To know he is here. That they are both here. He does it with his left hand, the scarred one, thoughtless, and pain flashes through him at the touch, but he stills himself until it’s gone again.

 _Finally_ , his brother looks up at him, and Thor wonders if Loki will thrust a cold blade between his ribs for touching him. Or for no reason at all.

But Loki starts unwrapping the package in his lap, and Thor feels like he is watching this from far afar, he doesn’t understand why Loki is here, when he should be at the hall telling stories born from stars to that girl. 

“Open.” Says Loki, holding up a small piece of fruit in front Thor’s mouth, it’s sticky with sugar and honey, he can smell them.

“What’s this?”

“Eat it and I will tell you.” Loki just presses it against his lips, adamant. Thor rolls his eyes but opens his mouth, flats out his tongue so Loki can put the slice on it. Before Loki could withdraw his fingers, he bites the top of his index in petty retaliation.

The flavour spreads out on his tongue, sweet and slow. It’s luscious. It has a kind of sour undertone, but the honey and sugar coats it perfectly. He was never really fond of sweets, but this he finds extremely delicious. He looks down at Loki, questioning.

“It’s candied orange. Mother got the tree as a gift a few months ago, and its fruit ripened now.”  He reaches for another one. “I thought this might be fitting for the palate of my dear brother.”

It is.

Loki pops it into his own mouth, watching Thor, then holds out the next one to him. Presses it against Thor’s mouth again, but Thor shakes it off, feels the honey slide on his lips, slow, and he licks it off before reaching into the package himself to grab the last one. The orange slice feels just as sticky on his fingers, coating them with small dollops of honey, warm and slick.

Thor glances at Loki's hand, he is still holding the slice he wanted to give Thor; fingers glistening with the syrup, and a small droplet starts sliding down on his thumb, following the contours of his hand with its fat bead, leaving a golden path behind. It falls down onto the cloth, tainting it dark.

What a mess they make.

He holds the slice in front of Loki’s mouth, but not close enough. He wants to see him work for it.Wants to see his neck, pale and long in the light of the moon, his head angling up. A statue coming to life.

“Open, brother.” He echoes, and Loki for once does what he is told. He gives him the slice, almost letting his fingers linger on Loki’s lips, but when he sees that torturous tongue peek out of the rose of his mouth he pulls back fast.  

Loki still holds his cut, he looks down to it then back up at Thor, inviting, and when Thor leans down a litte, opening his mouth slightly, already accepting what is yet to be offered, Loki laughs and eats the slice himself.

“Sometimes I wonder what it must be like, feeling you are entitled to the whole wide world, brother.” Loki says with mocking innocence, and it’s all a lie, _a lie_ , he knows exactly what it is like, they both have the kind of hunger that never will be satisfied, they will sink their teeth into the sky, the worlds, the whole universe, bite out huge chunks and yet. They will be left starved and ravenous.

Thor dreads the words his brother will say, knows that it will end with them tearing at each other again. Hawks in the air, driven by compulsion, they will both fall to their doom.

“Always wanting. Always _demanding._ ” Loki watches him, waiting, observing. Thor doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want this night to end like this, he doesn’t need the aching of his ripped soul added to the pain in his hand. Loki would make it so still, he will push and claw at him, spit words coated with venom, just because he wants Thor to respond in kind.

He shouldn’t.

“Wanting my own brother’s kindness shown towards me for once is hardly entitlement.” Says Thor, hating Loki for doing this to them, hating himself for not being able to stop it.

“You have woven such gentle words into that girl’s mind tonight, surely you can spare me a few kind thoughts, Loki.”

So this is what Thor becomes with Loki. This is what he is reduced to, green with envy, wanting his brother’s attention and concern. Selfish. Childish.

 _Look at me._ He wants to say again. His hand hasn’t stopped pulsing with pain, and now with his rage it flared up, torturous. He feels caged in. He ignores that Loki has the key.

His brother, his infuriating little brother, the thorn in his flesh, pierced through his beating heart.

A part of him. If he removes the thorn, he will bleed to death.

Loki just smiles at his words, a slow pull of his mouth, and starts fussing with the silken cloth that held the orange slices, folds it, so the honey covered side, that sticky mess is hidden between the folds. He rubs down his fingers, quick and tidy.

Then he holds it out, a silent order, his eyes trapping Thor, and Thor just lifts his right hand, his fingers dipped in sugar and honey, and offers it with his palm up. Without a second thought. His brother could stab him again, blade waiting in the cloth, silent, deadly. He can’t find it in himself to care.

Loki holds his hand gentle, his touch light on his skin, secure, while with his other hand starts wiping down on his fingers, slowly, meticulously. As he looks down, his hair moves a little, the pearls like faded stars in the black of his hair, hiding and blinking in the moonlight. Thor wants to touch and tear.

The scar pains him again, demanding attention. Thor ignores it.

“ Hmm....” Loki stills his hand, looks up at Thor, searching his gaze, his smile a trap. “But would you really like that?”

“You being nicer towards me?”

“Me showering you with false words of affection. Putting on a show.” Loki licks his lower lip, and Thor imagines the plump flavour of honey and sugar and orange he must taste there. Heavy, heady, dizzying. Sweet. “All untrue.”

Thor is getting impatient, his temper was foul already and now his brother is twisting his words until there is nothing left for Thor to do but yield. He won't, of course, his damned pride wouldn’t let him anyway.

“I want you true then.”

 _I will accept anything you will give me_. Goes unsaid, but it burns his tongue.

 _I’m afraid you will disappear one day._ Goes unsaid, but this he swallows down, buries it deep, deep, in his chest, hidden, secret, charring him on the inside.

Loki looks astounded, beaten in his own game. Only a slight widening of his eyes, evergreens in winter, and a short intake of breath, already preparing for a fight.  Thor recognizes all this, the only thing he was always clumsy handling, never quite anticipating, was Thor's statements of absolute love and acceptance. It bothered Thor a great deal in their childhood, bothers him even now. Like Loki doesn't trust the blood that binds them. His tears in Thor's wound.

Like Thor didn’t say _it’s alright Loki_ over and over again when his brother stabbed him. Like he didn’t wipe Loki's tears away with his _unstabbed_ hand, while desperately holding back his own.

“You don’t want me true Thor.”  Loki says this with finality, looking down again. He finished cleaning his hand, slides his fingers over Thor’s, slowly, dipping them on his palm, up, up, then stopping on his wrist. His touch is chilly, like the snowflakes that would fall on Thor during winter, only a moment, then they are gone, melted into his skin. He slides them back again, stops at Thor's fingertips, playing with them.

“You can't know tha-”

“The way” Loki interrupts him, and Thor clamps his mouth shut, annoyed, “you were trying to blend in together with the wall and that pillar in the hall,” he pinches his middle finger lightly, and Thor swears all his nerves are alight, his left hand throbbing in pain “ I figured tonight it is my duty to play the courteous host, lest Mother be furious with us for showing poor manners.”

He slides his entire palm over Thor's, resting it there, his fingers brushing Thor's sleeve. A white dove in his nest, finally home.

“In retrospect, you ought to thank me.” Loki says, gloating, the wretched thing.

Thor just scoffs at this. “It must have been so horrible, talking to her.”

Loki hums, thoughtful. “But I wanted a little more excitement tonight.” he looks over Thor's shoulder, behind him, his gaze far away in the gardens, not here, not there.“Oh well, we all have certain obligations we must answer to, don’t we, my dear brother.” Loki's eyes find his again, searching and _knowing_ , Thor hates it when he looks at him like this, reading him without effort.“Even if it pains us to do so.” Loki says this so lightly, but sounds like a threat still. A dark promise waiting for you to look the other way, to get the opportunity to snap your neck. An evil omen, billowing in the shadows.

Thor is flooded with memories, the virgins of Oeupeia, who only come out of their ivory temple under the lights of full moon. A moon just like this cursed night. The virgins are said to be the weavers of fate, motivated by pure mischief, they would see the future in the guts of a deer, bloody and twisted and _boring_ , and disturb it by dancing, soundless and mute, their petal thin dresses shining silver, then colorless, translucent with their sweat as they whirl and spin.

Thor visited them two times, the first from pure curiosity, a mere spectator of the rite, the second time because he thought he fell in love with a real jewel, one of the virgins, during the first visit. There was no rejection, the girl wouldn’t even look his way, and his father forbade him from talking to her. So Thor came back, heartsick and miserable, not used to being denied, and Loki laughed at him for being a fool, for falling in love with something so clearly out of reach. Forbidden fruit even for a god.

_You are eternally hopeless, brother._

Loki never went to see them.

He steps closer to Loki at the thought, nudging his legs to give him space between. Crowds against him, his brother sitting there, slides back a little, accommodating him with his body in a way he would never with his words.  Thor likes these silent moments, when they move around each other with effortless ease, the space around them reshaping, welcoming. He breathes a little easier now, even with Loki's veiled threat hanging over his head.

Loki is still holding his right hand and Thor gravitates towards him, forever will, a burning sun held captive by a black hole, a matter of time until destruction. It was never a question of _if_. It was a question of _when._

He pushes away Loki's light tunic, more like a coat, parted in the middle – indigo, so deep it’s almost like Loki is embraced by the loving night sky – falling just short of Loki's knees, and places his tender left hand on his thigh, the fabric of his pants is soft and forgiving under his pain, and thinks about that supposedly you are to heal yourself from a snakebite with the very venom of the snake that bit you.

He sighs, heavy and tired and feels Loki's leg twitch under his hand.

“Thor.” His brother calls him, voice a gentle caress, clear and soft and yet Thor looks up startled, half expecting to see that cruel smile, see his brother shimmer out of existence, or just to wake up from a wishful dream _again._ But none of that, nothing, just Loki.

“I would ask what torments you on this night” Loki lets go of his hand, so Thor rests it on Loki’s other thigh, spreading his fingers, it’s warm and solid underneath his palm and waits for him to finish. Look at him, a man waiting for his own execution patiently, doting on his own hangman that will carry out the sentence, “But I don’t like pointless questions, not when I know the answer already.”

_You torment me, you, you, you._

He contemplates about lying, but he dismisses it almost instantly. Loki would see right through it, then thinks about Loki knowing about the scar and pain, what would Loki do with the kind of power this certain knowledge would bring and thinks about lying again. 

“I’m simply tired.” Resolute. Loki sits a little straighter, and puts his hand on his left forearm, lightly, and smiles at him, endearing, like he is indulging a child.

“Hmm... no, you have been awfully lazy these past few days, nothing laborious, no, don’t look at me like that, it _is_ true, surely the summer heat.”

“I’m jealous that it was you, not me who talked to her.” Loki starts to slide his hand down on his forearm, torturously slow, and Thor narrows his eyes at him.

“No, you would have started slobbering all over her the moment she stepped into the hall if you really wanted her _that_ much.” He is on the verge of laughing, Thor can hear it in his voice, his wretched little brother, playing with him before ending his misery.

“I don’t _slobber._ ”

“You do.”

Thor huffs.

“I had a quarrel with Sif, the reason I’m feeling blue.”

Loki is holding his wrist now, his _left_ , and it takes every bit of Thor's willpower to not snatch his hand away, away from the danger.

“Oh my” Loki drawls, and Thor thinks about choking him, but just squeezes his thigh in warning instead. Loki doesn't care, of course. “Better, but still not good enough, the Lady Sif was all merry tonight, even asked me if I know the reason of your dark mood. She probably thought I did something, a creature of habit, that girl.”

“Most of the time it _is_ your doings that leave me distressed.”

“They make you smile, too.”

“Maybe.” Thor admits, reluctant, his body thrumming with the need to move, to _do_ something.

Loki’s laugh is like ripples in a forest lake, and finally takes Thor's scarred hand in his. Thor feels like he is drowning.

“You should learn to lie better.” Loki says low, and turns Thor's hand, palm up, and traces the scar first with his eyes then with his finger, learning its paths, but even with his touch light, Thor almost hisses at the pain. Loki keeps following the outlines of his scar with the tip of his finger for what seems like an eternity, slowly, intimate and somehow secret, like a witch reading truth from the graven lines of ivory runes. _This line stands for the sleepless nights, this line here is for the thoughts of me, this here is the anguish, this is the mad yearning, this broken line is the frustration, this line right here is the reckless sacrifice, and the eye of the scar is the despite-of-it-all, stubborn, tender love…_

“I don’t want to.” Thor fears his voice would waver if he spoke more than this.

Thor is too aware of everything around, the hot summer air, motionless and heavy, settling on them, the faint sounds of insects roaming in the garden behind his back, a bird of night preying on them, catching one, just a silent flutter of wings, an echo of a life and then, death.

The aftertaste of the oranges in his mouth is suddenly overwhelming, his tongue feels thick and he _needs_ a glass of cold water, wine, mead, anything just to wash out his mouth. There are small tremors going through his body, but he wills himself to be still, before he outright starts _shaking_ with pent up...anything that this is, that pushes him down into a dried out well, its walls crumbling, leaving him to waste. He breathes out, once, twice.

Of course Loki notices. He saw that momentary slip up, just a barely visible shaking of Thor’s hand, nothing more so that it couldn’t be passable for a little twitch. But they both know it for what it was.

Loki looks up from his hand, and Thor accepts his defeat.


	3. Chapter 3

“I wondered many times,” his voice is hoarse, he swallows, and Loki's eyes flicker to his throat, then back to his eyes “if the knife were dipped in poison. For it to scar like this.”

_For it to curse me for a life._

Loki doesn't even look surprised.

“Now, that would have been awfully rude of me, brother.” He says smiling, like they aren’t talking about agony and doom. Like him stabbing Thor wouldn’t be considered _rude_ already.

He brings Thor's hand closer to him, Thor can feel his breath on his skin, even more fervent than the air around them.

“Why would I want to hurt you like that, really.” Every word of his feels a permanent mark over Thor's scar, covering it, and all Thor can do is just hope that they will be kinder to his flesh than that damned knife was.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Loki's eyelashes flutter at his question, serene, hiding his eyes. Thor wonders where stars are born.

“There is an answer to both, Thor, it’s quite simple,” Loki starts nuzzling at his palm, kind, _docile._ Lips but a sigh away from it, “because I love you.”

Loki kisses his scar, soft, fatal. Thor's fate is sealed. He wishes he would have the power to close his eyes, to not want to watch his brother as he is killing him. There is something exceptionally cruel about the way Loki's lips whisper a kiss against his marred skin, Thor sees flower petals with deadly thorns, the rustling folds of a rosy velvet dress hiding a vial with ruby poison, a feather falling on a ground full of shattered glass in this kiss. The first drops of the morning dew, fresh and undefiled, hidden in thick fog in which he stumbles through in a haze. He doesn’t know anymore where he stands.

He feels it as Loki's mouth pulls into a smirk.

Thor is not fast enough.

Loki presses his thumb into Thor's scar, _hard_ , pitiless. Thor gasps, he can't feel anything, but the blinding pain, and in a strange lucidity, he is certain that he will never feel anything ever again, just this agony, his own hell created by his brother. He yanks out his hand from Loki's clutch, and grabs his neck with the other, unthinking. Loki claws at his shirt, his knuckles are sharp against his abdomen, and for a moment Thor believes he will sink them into his heart. He jostles him, the pearls in Loki's hair are glittering with resent, and Thor knows that when he will close his eyes for sleep, tonight, tomorrow, a thousand years from now, he will see the glinting of them, mocking him, and he hates, _he hates_.

“Loki.” He growls the only word that goes through his clouded mind, the only word he would know even in his death, not expecting an answer to a question he asked every time Loki hurt him. He never got one, never will, probably.

Thor sees his own hand, bronze and rough, his fingers around Loki’s pale neck, feeling his pulse stuttering against the cage of his palm, and Thor grits his teeth at his own hypocrisy. At how familiar the curve of Loki’s neck is in his hold.

“My savage brother.” Loki says with a sigh.

Thor hardens his grip, because he doesn't trust his voice yet.

Loki’s breath hitches. “Seeing all red, ready to rip out my throat.” Loki _leans_ into his hand, daring him.

“You made me do this, you make me every time...” he seethes.

Loki's smile is a wicked thing. “I can't bring something out of you if it isn’t already there."

He licks his lips, and Thor leans closer, “I’m merely helping so you don’t forget.”

“Forget what?” he demands.

“Me.”

Thor watches as Loki's mouth forms the word; his reddened lips pressing together, barely, a round “m” rolling out lazily, then they stretch out, a glimpse of his teeth, sharp canines, a thin “e”. He wants him to swallow back down his words, everything that has been said this night.

How can Loki says that, when Thor would sooner forget his own name, than Loki's. He could close his eyes and tell that there is a small birthmark just under his left eye, a lovely spot, that Thor kissed clumsily in apology when they were children, and Thor a little too brisk during roughhousing.

He would carve Loki on the starry night sky, if that meant they could be together until the universe collapses. Loki, his beloved, his midnight sun.

How can he ever forget Loki, if there isn’t even the need to remember him. He knows that Loki _is,_ and even if he will have to burn down all the worlds, leave ruins in his footsteps, become the savage his brother thinks him, even if a time will come when they have to part, and Thor will have to get used to the void beside him, he will suffer and endure, anything, but Loki _is_ and _will be,_ and everything between _._ And if this is the only truth Thor will ever know about him, then so be it.

He doesn't say any of this. Loki wouldn’t believe it.

He loosens his grip on Loki's neck – he hopes his soul will rot for hurting Loki again – but holds it still, tenderly, like it could right all wrongs. His fingertips are brushing the hair at his nape, then the top knobs of his spine, just beneath the collar. Loki trembles, but still himself.

“Never say that again.” Thor murmurs.

“You said you wanted me true.”  Loki's eyes are sharp and stubborn; he wants something Thor doesn't know how to give.

Thor slides his thumb under Loki's chin, pushing it up gently, baring his neck. Loki's grip on his shirt twitches but doesn't move away from Thor, he is still sitting, hasn’t shook off Thor's hand, he still wants to be here, he _allows_ it. There is still time for Thor to try to mend this.

Them.

“Is that how you feel, then? That one day I will just forget you?” he shakes his head “I don’t believe it.”

“Aren’t you afraid that _I_ will forget you?” Loki bares his teeth at him, “I will just go away, leave this all behind. Create my own kingdom. I could do it. I will do it, Thor.”

His brilliant, _devious_ brother, of course he could do it, not because he wants it, but to prove that he could.

“And after that?”

“I will never think of you again.” Loki breathes.

Thor desperately believes this to be a lie – his brother is still clutching at him, like he is afraid he will leave any moment – and slides his thumb over the sharp edge of his jaw, then down, calming Loki's wild pulse, Thor's gaze falling to follow the path of his hand. His fingertips dip in the hollow of Loki's neck, into the v collar of his undertunic, both this and the coat are embroidered with silver lining; mesmerizing whirlings of small summer flowers and leaves and little dots of stars, with black and blue rhinestones woven into the spaces between, all petite and exquisite. The more Thor rakes his eyes over them, –  the silvered lining playing tricks on his vision; flowers blooming and flirting, leaves whispering, the stars giggling –  the more he feels spellbound. Captivated. He thinks about the cobwebby dresses of the virgins of Oeupeia, their lustrous sheen of silver. The same shade of moonlight both.

He forces himself to look into Loki's eyes again; one look, and the truth escapes from the chains of his soul.

“I couldn’t bear it.”

Loki strains his jaw, but doesn’t answer. His gaze builds a wall Thor fears he can’t break through.

“Loki…” He grips the back of Loki's neck, skin burning hot under his palm, and he doesn’t want to let go. “You, being gone from my side, _choosing_ to be away from me. I’d hurt until death.”

Loki eyes narrow, and he clutches harder at Thor shirt, his face a blooming storm.

“One day you will sit on that golden throne, Thor, you will be the king you were meant to be, but me?” Loki's words are coming faster, erratic, but still, quiet, like he fears that him speaking these words is something forbidden. “What _should_ I be? What am I _meant_ to be? Don’t you see, that everything has its place here, but me?

“You are meant to be by my side.” Thor answers immediately. He knows this isn’t the answer Loki needs right now, but this is the only answer.

Loki exhales, irritated. He lets go of Thor.

“You still don’t understand.” He looks past Thor's shoulder, into the gardens, tired and hopeless, raw with hurt. “What was I thinking, of you course you wouldn’t.”

“No.” Thor puts his other hand, the one with the damned scar, on Loki's jaw, and turn his gaze up and back to him. He frames his face in his hands, delicate and fragile, and Loki opens his mouth in protest, but Thor doesn’t allow him further, “No. _You_ don’t understand. All this, everything, the throne, the kingdom” he tries to take a deep breath, but he comes up short, _afraid_ , that Loki won't believe a word he will say, burying himself, the both of them _,_ in denial, “They don’t matter, they hold no meaning to me without you. It’s not just about _you_ being by _my_ side. It’s about _me_ being by _your_ side too. Loki, it’s us. It has always been us.

Loki inhales sharp, mouth opening, but not a word leaves him. A cloud drifts lazily in front of the moon, its shadow rolling around them, on the floor, on the walls, and for a moment, Loki is painted in a silver halo, fallen angel without wings. Thor must confess, or they will lose something that can't be found ever again.

“I have a place here, because you are here.” Thor smiles, weak and tragic, smoothing Loki's lips, they are still damp with honey, and Thor's thumbs are _trembling_ on them. He has never been this afraid. “You have a palace hidden in the secrets of my heart, Loki. A temple, built for you. The moment you leave I will crumble to dust.”

“You… how can you say such impossible things…” Loki whispers, his face softening, and he ducks his head a little, like he can't help it, like he doesn't want Thor to see. This is the closest Thor will get for an apology and forgiveness.

“Forget these worries of yours.” Thor breathes.

His brother doesn't answer, but grabs his shirt again so he can pull him closer, slightly, and Thor goes willingly, how could he not. Now he knows that what bothers Loki is just as fabricated in his mind as the lies that leave his smart mouth. His curses himself for letting Loki come to these thoughts.

His darling brother, afraid of being forgotten, of being left behind. The scar on Thor's hand whispers in pain; _never, never._

Thor thighs hit the edge of windowsill Loki is sitting on, barely leaving space between them, and Loki bumps his forehead against Thor's collarbone, sneaking his arms around him, almost shy, a climbing rose. Thor smiles wide into the soft curls of Loki's hair.

He brushes his thumb against Loki's skin, just under his ear, and now, with his little brother all around him, his troubled mind and body finally, _finally_ , for the first time today, quietens.  Surround him with marble statues clad in diamond dust, white peacocks strolling in silver aviaries, glimmering towers with roof gardens, golden drapes that capture the warm light of the Suns, burgundy rugs and satin cushions, but only in Loki’s arms he feels enveloped in luxury.

“Without you I wouldn’t know who I am.” Thor says at last.

And Loki snorts at him, the wretched creature. Still, Thor feels him tightening his arms around his middle.

“Look at you, brother, a real poet.” He mumbles into him, but his voice can't hide his smile.

“Shut up.” Thor laughs tiredly.

Loki picks at the folds of his shirt, absentminded, then suddenly flattens his hand against the slope of Thor's back.

“You mean it then.” Not really a question, not really a statement, somewhere in-between, like Loki wants his words to be true, yet fears them to be true.

“You just told me that I should learn to lie better.” Thor sighs. He wants to see Loki’s face.

A beat.

“Are you drunk, perhaps?” Loki asks, almost hopeful.

“Could I have said those things if I were drunk?”

“My theory is that your excessive drinking tonight led to some kind of reserve effect, and instead of it destroying your brain, it helped you reach your full potential, thus your speech.” Loki is dangerously close to prattling, and Thor enjoys every moment of it. He is trying to divert Thor’s attention. Too bad it never really worked with him.

“Really now.”  Murmurs Thor and slips his hand further, into the curls of Loki's hair, his fingers gently catching on tangles. “Impressive theory.”

“Mhm.” Loki raises his head just so, and tucks it into the valley of Thor's neck, “Either that, or you are a cheap impersonator of my brother, one who loves me more than him.” 

Thor stops his hand in Loki's hair and takes a loose handful of it, gently pulling Loki with it. He won't allow Loki this, there is no room for doubt, not anymore.  

“Loki.” He says in warning, in plea, against Loki's brow, “There is no one that could love you more than me.”

“Then I suppose I’m rather unfortunate.”  Loki's breath caresses the side of his face, the moon is shining bright around them, and Thor doesn’t really know what he wants anymore. It’s getting harder to think.

“Is it not enough?”

“It feels almost too much.” Loki confesses.

“You still don’t believe me then?” as Thor speaks, his lips touch Loki's cheek, so he kisses him there. He wishes instead of scars, that remain forever defiled with anger and tears, they would leave kisses on each other, a map that shows the ethereal constellations.

_I loved you here and here and here._

“I’m afraid.” Loki says quiet, sliding his hand up on Thor's chest, resting it on his wild heart.

“Of  what?” Thor asks.

“That I love you just as much as you love me.” Loki turns his head, and Thor feels his lips whisper against the side of his mouth. He feels delirious, he feels fervid, the whole world is tipping around its centre, and he moves that one inch to the left, opening his mouth, he doesn’t know why, _eternally hopeless_ , but Loki continues; “Of what we will do to each other, Thor.”

 _Ruin_ Thor thinks and leans in.

“I must go back.” Loki's lips brushes his, barely there like a dream, grinning, leaning away. Thor is left with nothing.

And the same hands that rubbed Thor’s honey coated fingers clean, the same hands that felt like claws against his body and Thor thought they would tear out his heart, the same hands that clutched at him with desperate need and fear, and something else, now push at his chest, slow and without any real force, but still, away, _away_. Thor believes the thorn in his heart has never been deeper, it trembles and bleeds. He wishes Loki tore it out instead.

“Okay.” Is all he says. He takes a step back. The next one is harder to take.

He untangles his hand from Loki's hair, but a braid catches on his finger, coming undone, and the pearls that have been woven into it fall down onto the marble floor. _Loki's tears falling into his wound._ One, two, three. He watches with dazed fascination as they clatter against the floor, glinting as the moonlight hits them, as they slowly roll to a stop. One remains in his palm.

He looks up at Loki .

“Not only a poet, but a thief too.”  Loki says with a too wide smile and stands from the windowsill. Thor longs to put his arms around his lithe waist and pull him closer, so he can hear Loki gasp his name. He wants to taste the skin on his pale neck, wants to sink his teeth into it, again and again, so he can watch as those spots bloom into a corsage of maroon roses. Press against his skin a little too hard, and Loki bruises immediately. He wants Loki to stay with him. He takes one more step back.

“I must be a clumsy thief then.” Thor swallows and continues, “There was something far more precious than this pearl, right in front of my eyes, yet I didn’t steal it.”

“Oh Thor…” Loki says with a sad sigh, dramatic to the end. “You are the absolute _worst_.”

He turns and starts walking back, towards the Great Hall, silent like a ghost. The silver of the moon shines on Loki’s back, but when he steps into the shadow of the next pillar, he stops and turns back to Thor. Loki looks at him, smiling, smiling…

“Why steal something, when it’s already yours, brother.”

Thor takes a shuddering breath.

“Loki.” He can't let him go, not like this. Loki hums at his name.

Thor steps towards him, desperate to shorten the distance between them. He wants to _take._

As he moves, the moon blinds him for a moment, all he can see is glittering silver and white, and the faint thrumming of the air becomes deafening. He comes to a stop. Loki isn’t there anymore.

He stands in the middle of the hallway, feeling like he had been bled out.

The pearl is lonely and beautiful in the palm of his hand, flawless against the marred skin, and he knows he will never learn. He will let Loki ruin him, destroy his very being, because after that Loki will always come back to him just to soothe the very pain he caused. Thor will talk about forgiveness and love with his hand around Loki's neck.

He hates what they become around each other. He loves what they become to each other. He will always love Loki, because he doesn’t know how not to. A dark part of him throbs with satisfaction because he knows it’s the same for Loki.

He wonders what he will have to do because of this love. The scar on Thor's hand starts whispering in pain again; _everything, everything._

The pearl between his fingers glints like it has trapped the moonlight and he kisses it tenderly.

In front of their ivory temple, the virgins of Oeupeia are starting their dance.

**Author's Note:**

> hello!
> 
> this is my take on the Snake Incident yknow, but before loki became a total git and cocked up everything  
> still he is manipulative af here just a heads up  
> let me know if something needs to be tagged pls  
> kudos and comments are life i want to improve my writing so come at me my friends  
> thank you for reading!


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